How to Save a Life
by NCIS-SVUgurl
Summary: Hindsight is always 20/20.


**Saturday December 13, 2014 8:36 P.M.**

_I should have stopped it._

_None of this would have happened if I would have pulled him out the second it started to go south._

_I knew that it was going to happen._

_He missed Thanksgiving because of me._

_And then I went to his home yesterday... "Fine, fine, fine". You're always fine._

_I knew I would not be able to actually talk to him._

_I knew the roads were bad._

_I knew my gut was not lying to me._

_I should have gone and picked him up._

_I knew something was wrong when my phone rang._

_Now, I'm sitting here in this white plastic chair._

_He just won't wake up.  
_  
**Friday December 12, 2014 5:04 P.M.**

"We need to talk." The older man solemnly said to the younger brunette who had just opened his door.

"Okay, talk." Neal replied in a relaxed tone and a polite smile. Leaving the door open, he turned around and entered his living room. Peter took this as an invitation to enter the apartment and, after taking his coat and scarf off and placing it on the hook, followed into the living area.

"Sit." The tone in Peter's voice left no room for questioning. It seemed odd that he would demand this, considering it is not his home, but his nerves were putting him on edge.

Peter's stern demand earned him a nervous look from the younger boy, but Neal quickly covered it up with one of his smiles. He noted the way the younger man glanced at the distance between him and the door. "I just want to talk." Peter hoped that would be enough to keep him from running.

"Okay." Neal murmured in response, plopping onto the couch (although, in all reality, it could hardly be deemed as plopping). Peter followed in suite.

_God, how had he lost weight so quickly?_

The two smiled awkwardly at each other, the quietness wrapping its arms around the two men like a blanket. Peter looked around, duly noting the emptiness of the apartment. All traces of food were obliterated, the large windows to the right of Neal were a little hazy with steam from the warmth inside, and all furniture seemed to be covered in a thin film of dust, all chalking up to showing that no life had inhabited this home for the past five weeks.

_Probably because no one had._

June had told Peter that she could not bring herself to get Neal's room cleaned. She kept saying that he would be home soon. No need to dust. Neal will be home tonight. Neal will be home tomorrow. Neal will be home.

Peter snapped out of his reverie when he realized that Neal is staring at him. "Are you okay?" He asked, curious as to why the special agent kept staring off.

_I should've asked you that._

"Yeah." _This is not going well_. "The question is: are you?" _Please don't say_-

"Peter, I've told you this a thousand times. I am fine."

How could Peter expect anything less though? It was his fault Neal got kidnapped. It was his fault Neal got tortured. He never should have left his house to come here, because he knew that Neal would be "fine", and it was Peter's fault that Neal was "fine".

_I should have pulled the operation the second that they were talking about running. How they needed to "take care of the collateral" before they left, or they would have to "take the collateral with them"._

Luckily they chose the latter. That is what Peter kept telling himself. Maybe if they would have tried to kill Neal in the warehouse the FBI could and would have stepped in and saved him beforehand. But the sting was too important to Peter and Neal, and so Neal left with the group. Still undercover. Somehow (Lord only knows how) they figured out Neal was not who he said he was.

And that's when the beatings began.

Peter shook his head, bringing himself to the present. "Um, okay. I just wanted to make sure."

_I gave up too easily. _

Standing up, Peter turned to look back at the kitchen and gestured toward it. "Do you want me to go pick you up something?"

"No thanks. Mozz promised to take me to dinner as a welcome home present." Neal emphasized the "welcome home" part (or maybe that was all in Peter's head).

_Regardless, that was a lie. Mozzie skipped town the moment you got kidnapped, believing he could find you before we could._

But Peter is Peter, and Peter Burke does not say what he is thinking when it comes to emotions. He does not want to screw it up any more than it already is. So instead, he offered up a tight smile. "Well, enjoy that."

_I knew what was best for him. What's best for Neal is a home cooked meal._

Peter began walking to the door. "Actually," he paused, turning back to the younger man. Neal quickly snapped his head up and plastered that same fake smile onto his face. "Elizabeth sent me over to invite you to dinner tomorrow night." He grabbed his coat and scarf off the hook and put it on.

"I don't know-"

"Come on, Neal." Peter interrupted, slipping past his defense and hoping that he would take the bait. "You don't want to disappoint El."

The hesitation was prominent on the young mans face. Peter got a good look while Neal was contemplating. Bags under his eyes darker than night, skull jutting out against his skin, lip split open, and most of the cuts beginning to heal. "What time?"

Peter jumped slightly when he heard the voice, but quickly recovered. "7 sound okay?"

"Sounds great. I'll see you then." And with that response to take home to his wife, Peter made his exit.

As soon as the door of his car closed, he let out a huge sigh.

_Way to go, Burke, you blew it. You've let him down. Again._

************  
Neal stood in front of the steaming mirror, waiting for some of the fog to decrease on its own. He just did not have the energy to wipe it away with his towel. He leaned against the sink, letting his hair slowly drip monotonously down as he tried to catch his breath. The piping hot shower did wonders for his worn out muscles but not so much for his worn out lungs.

He wanted to ensure that his attire was appropriate for the entire night. Long sleeves would be good to cover the burns and cuts, but he was also concerned about overheating. Neal knew that no matter what happened, he would not let El or Peter see the bulk of his injuries. Eventually, Neal decided on a light blue button-up that was very breathable and a nice black vest and matching tie.

After tossing back three pain killers, Neal wrapped up in a coat and scarf. He walked out the door and headed down the stairs, bracing himself for the cold walk ahead.

He opened the door and let out a sigh of disappointment, discreetly covering the cough that the cold air elicited from his battered lungs. He squinted in distaste as he watched the tiny morsels of sleet bounce off the sidewalk.

*********  
Peter mulled over the plan for the night once more while sitting on the couch in his living room. With Elizabeth by his side, it should be easier to talk to Neal. Both men were much calmer and open when she is around. Plus, she will help keep the conversation going. Above all, Peter just wants to apologize for letting everything happen and to be forgiven. A part of him knows that he just wants to fix his partner. He wants- no he _needs_\- to have the charming and cunning ex-con back alongside him.

"Nervous?" Elizabeth walked over and sat down on the couch next to her husband, gently laying an arm around him.

Peter stayed quiet for a moment, keeping his hands clasped together and his elbows on his knees. "Where did it all go wrong, El?" He said in a rushed sigh.

She remained quiet, allowing Peter to organize his thoughts. She placed her hand gently on his back. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

He inhaled slowly and deeply. "I just," Peter swallowed. "Pray to whoever'll listen that he'll hear me."

Elizabeth silently nodded and continued to rub his back in slow circles.

Not ten minutes later, Peter's phone rang. Something about "car crash-"

_Neal._

"Hospital-"

_Neal._

"Ribs-"

_Neal._

"Past injuries-"

_Neal._

"Critical condition-"

Flying through the home, Elizabeth and Peter threw on coats and shoes, and were in the car before the phone call ended.

Peter is brought out of his reverie when a small cup of coffee impedes his line of vision that leads to the patient on the bed. "I can't believe I let this happen." His statement was so quiet, he did not know if she could hear him over the monotonous beep of the heart monitor.

Elizabeth keeps her voice light and delicate. "There was no way you could have stopped it, Peter. There's no way you could have stopped any of it." She kisses the top of his head, allowing her lips to linger for a few seconds. She sits in a chair next to him, and watches as Neal's chest rises and falls to a steady unheard beat.

Ten minutes pass. Fifteen minutes pass. Peter thought the two hours in the waiting room was bad, but this waiting is somehow worse. Restlessness begins to set into his being. He leans forward on to the bed in front of him, gingerly laying a hand on Neal's forearm. "I'm sorry, kid." He swallows a lump that is beginning to form in his throat. "I'm so sorry."

The heart monitor starts to beat a little faster; Peter leans back in his seat, fear coursing through his veins. He does not let go of Neal's arm.

Glazed-over baby blues open a few moments later and look at the ceiling without a goal to set on something, until they land on his face. "Peter?" A voice croaks out.

**A.N. Yeah, I don't know either. One-shot. I don't own White Collar (although I do miss it dearly).**


End file.
